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katie_archer's review against another edition
emotional
reflective
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
3.75
daniel_ov's review
reflective
sad
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.0
adambecket's review
challenging
dark
reflective
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.0
kenzweth's review
reflective
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
3.25
emmavardy2's review
adventurous
challenging
dark
emotional
mysterious
sad
tense
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? It's complicated
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
4.5
Content Warnings
Minor: Injury/Injury detail and Racism
samuriah's review against another edition
emotional
reflective
sad
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.25
scfooy's review
emotional
hopeful
inspiring
reflective
sad
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.5
marciag's review
adventurous
dark
emotional
funny
hopeful
informative
inspiring
reflective
sad
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
5.0
matthewkeating's review
4.0
Idra Novey’s “Take What You Need” is a beautiful book about a complicated family relationship and the endless drive to create. In the present, a young woman named Leah has learned of her stepmother Jean’s death, and that apparently Jean has left her a large collection of massive, metal sculptures. She’s traveling with her husband and son to go and see them. The catch is that Leah and Jean haven’t spoken in years; and Elliot, the man who informs Leah of all of this, is someone she has never heard of, who apparently moved in with Jean prior to her death. Chapters from Leah’s point of view alternate with those from Jean’s, which also take place in the past. Jean is an old woman living on her own in a very poor small town, consumed with the need to make sculptures out of sheet metal and other odds and ends.
For me, the strongest parts of the novel are Jean’s sections, especially when they focus on Jean’s experience of the value of her art. Crucially, Jean is an old woman living in relative poverty, with no artistic training at all and no support in the form of teachers or friends. Moreover, the kind of sculpture she’s making involves the use of heavy power tools, the kind of thing an old woman is pretty much guaranteed to be scoffed at for attempting. But she has a deep need to make something, an urge to create that has permeated her entire life, been stifled by numerous people and is just now starting to blossom. Everything is stacked against Jean’s success, but she manages to figure out a way to keep going. Her only guides are YouTube and the writings of Agnes Martin and Louise Bourgeois. This is a portrait of the artist, in the sense that most artists exist today: completely unrecognized and laboring because the drive is there, rather than publishing work or making a living off of it. There’s a real beauty and pathos to watching Jean struggle to find value in her work and manage against the odds to continue to create.
There’s a point in the novel where Jean’s actions in her personal life have powerful, lasting repercussions, and she’s consumed with regret and shame over the ugly way the situation plays out. The way Novey looks at these feelings is so true to life: a single moment continues to haunt Jean afterwards, an image she returns to multiple times; it has imprinted itself in her mind. As writers we are often people concerned with beauty, and I think there is a powerful temptation to look away from ugliness; Novey refuses to do so.
This relates directly to the careful balancing act that is conjuring a sympathetic character while still, as an author, taking responsibility for their actions. The way the novel is paced, I think the reader gets to know Jean, and to sympathize with her, faster than with Leah; and since Jean and Leah’s relationship is deeply troubled, it would be very easy to botch the way Jean comes off in Leah’s recollections. By this I mean it would be very easy to turn a complex, deeply human dynamic—between two people who ultimately love each other despite their differences—into a faux-black-and-white situation where the reader feels compelled to “side” with Leah and repudiate Jean completely. But Novey doesn’t do this: she manages to look straight-on at the depth of pain Jean has caused Leah in the past; when reading sections from Leah’s point of view in the middle of the book, the pain is so palpable I didn’t even want to defend Jean. And yet, going back to Jean’s sections, the sympathy was still there for me, alive and well. I think it speaks to Novey’s ability to portray more than one consciousness within a novel with a level of skill that makes both completely engrossing.
Human beings are so complicated and multifaceted, and they are capable of hurting with one hand and healing with the other, however messy that is; I’m so excited to find books where the harm a person has done is allowed to coexist, without trying to wash it away, with their triumphs.
“Take What You Need” is really a novel about balance: the balance between the love we can hold for someone and the ways they have hurt us; the balance between the futility of creating art in a world that often refuses to support its existence, and the unquenchable desire to make something.
For me, the strongest parts of the novel are Jean’s sections, especially when they focus on Jean’s experience of the value of her art. Crucially, Jean is an old woman living in relative poverty, with no artistic training at all and no support in the form of teachers or friends. Moreover, the kind of sculpture she’s making involves the use of heavy power tools, the kind of thing an old woman is pretty much guaranteed to be scoffed at for attempting. But she has a deep need to make something, an urge to create that has permeated her entire life, been stifled by numerous people and is just now starting to blossom. Everything is stacked against Jean’s success, but she manages to figure out a way to keep going. Her only guides are YouTube and the writings of Agnes Martin and Louise Bourgeois. This is a portrait of the artist, in the sense that most artists exist today: completely unrecognized and laboring because the drive is there, rather than publishing work or making a living off of it. There’s a real beauty and pathos to watching Jean struggle to find value in her work and manage against the odds to continue to create.
There’s a point in the novel where Jean’s actions in her personal life have powerful, lasting repercussions, and she’s consumed with regret and shame over the ugly way the situation plays out. The way Novey looks at these feelings is so true to life: a single moment continues to haunt Jean afterwards, an image she returns to multiple times; it has imprinted itself in her mind. As writers we are often people concerned with beauty, and I think there is a powerful temptation to look away from ugliness; Novey refuses to do so.
This relates directly to the careful balancing act that is conjuring a sympathetic character while still, as an author, taking responsibility for their actions. The way the novel is paced, I think the reader gets to know Jean, and to sympathize with her, faster than with Leah; and since Jean and Leah’s relationship is deeply troubled, it would be very easy to botch the way Jean comes off in Leah’s recollections. By this I mean it would be very easy to turn a complex, deeply human dynamic—between two people who ultimately love each other despite their differences—into a faux-black-and-white situation where the reader feels compelled to “side” with Leah and repudiate Jean completely. But Novey doesn’t do this: she manages to look straight-on at the depth of pain Jean has caused Leah in the past; when reading sections from Leah’s point of view in the middle of the book, the pain is so palpable I didn’t even want to defend Jean. And yet, going back to Jean’s sections, the sympathy was still there for me, alive and well. I think it speaks to Novey’s ability to portray more than one consciousness within a novel with a level of skill that makes both completely engrossing.
Human beings are so complicated and multifaceted, and they are capable of hurting with one hand and healing with the other, however messy that is; I’m so excited to find books where the harm a person has done is allowed to coexist, without trying to wash it away, with their triumphs.
“Take What You Need” is really a novel about balance: the balance between the love we can hold for someone and the ways they have hurt us; the balance between the futility of creating art in a world that often refuses to support its existence, and the unquenchable desire to make something.